


Walter Challenge: Insert Name Here

by Shanola (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Shanola
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Shanola.





	Walter Challenge: Insert Name Here

_"Turn it down one degree. We can't do any permanent damage"._

_"Yet."_

_"What?"_

_"We can't do any permanent damage yet. Sooner or later, they all come to us. Well, if they make it this far."_

A pregnant pause. 

_"Right. Now, turn it down one degree."_

~~~~~~~ 

Walter smirked at the black velvet Elvis painting hanging on the wall in front of him. He turned at the sound behind him. 

"It was a gift." 

"And you just had to put it up?" He smiled as he shed his leather jacket and moved across the room. 

"Well . . . ," She drawled out slowly, watching with big brown eyes as the jacket landed on a chair. "Like I said, it was a gift." 

"You always hang your gifts out for everyone to see?" Walter raised his eyebrows and looked at the expanse of cleavage Wendy displayed as she stepped closer. "Just let me be the one to unwrap them for you . . . " 

She smiled and moved her hands down his t-shirt clad chest. "Not . . . Every . . . Gift." Her hands went lower, causing Walter to step back and release the blond bomb from his grasp. 

Wendy moved across the room to the record player, her curvaceous form rolling gently from side to side. She bent, allowing the tiny skirt to creep up and stop just beneath her assets. Walter grinned, eyeing what she offered. 

She stood slowly, pulling a record from its sleeve. Glancing over her shoulder through big, blond hair, she smiled as she put the record on the turntable. A moment later the static-filled sound of a man's voice filled the air. 

Walter raised his eyes as Wendy sauntered to him and tugged at this belt. 

"Johnny Cash, Sweetness?" 

She licked her lips and untucked his shirt. "I like this song." 

Walter chuckled and grasped her wrists, pulling her close. "Ring of Fire, Sweetness. Ring . . of . . . Fire." Then he kissed her, letting her hands free so he could use his own fingers across her full body. Her breath caught as he inched her tiny skirt higher, and he smiled against her lips at finding bare skin instead of material. 

~~~~~~ 

_"Take it down another degree. He's spiking."_

_"So I see. Just one?"_

_"Mmm. Better make it two."_

_"Done."_

_"Was that your panel?"_

_"No, it was yours. Better check it."_

~~~~~~ 

Somehow, Walter realized, they had worked their way across the room and under a table. Wendy's clothes traced their haphazard path. Hell, Walter mused. So did his! 

The prickly stinging in his arm finally forced him to move it from beneath Wendy's bleach blonde head, careful not to wake her. Walter sat up and began to move out from under the table. He winced as sore muscles protested his earlier activities. Who would have thought Wendy would be so creative? Walter stood, bumping the table edge as he did so. 

A tiny clatter made him jump. Underneath the table, Wendy sighed then was still. Walter rolled his eyes then began to prowl the room. Where would she have hidden it? Walter moved silently across the green carpet and mentally reminded himself to never use green and orange as decor. Or plaid furniture. Seemed like that was all the rage now, though. Orange countertops, green curtains, green carpet. Chicks loved that stuff. 

He shivered slightly then continued his search of the living room. Various pictures and knicknacks graced the room but it was the vast record collection that made him stop for a few minutes. Her taste in music was eclectic to say the least. Her choice in men was the same. 

Thank god. He grinned and looked at the smooth expanse of flesh displayed beneath the table before he moved on. 

Walter continued his inspection, passing a short hall that could only lead to the bedroom. He smiled as he thought about conducting a search in there. Sweet Wendy-May would look better on a bed than the floor, he knew. All that soft linen against her bare skin. 

But first things first. He completed a circuit of the small living room then paused before the table again. His time was almost up; Wendy couldn't sleep on the floor much longer. His eyes fell to the table top which housed a collection of glass dogs. Walter paused, then made his way to the state-of-the-art record player and studied the symbol on the front. 

"I'll be damned," he whispered to himself then straightened and moved back to the table. A quick glance and he found the black and white dog that represented the RCA logo. Picking it up and turning it over confirmed his suspicions. Sometimes, this was almost too easy. 

The voluptuous girl moaned and moved her leg. Walter looked at the dog, then turned his gaze down to the sleek calf peeking out from under the table. He had two choices here; finish the mission and go home alone, or take his sweet Wendy-May into that hidden bedroom and . . . well. What kind of choice was that? He grinned as he placed the dog back on the table and bent to tug on Wendy's exposed leg. 

Why not find out what was in the bedroom, anyway? Walter sighed as Wendy's big brown eyes opened. 

He loved his job sometimes. 

~~~~~ 

_"Bring him out of it."_

_"What? We just started."_

_"New orders. Just came down."_

_"He's spiking.."_

_"Again?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Let this one run it's course. We'll start the reversal process when the Delta pattern hits ten._

~~~~~~~~~ 

Damn. He shouldn't sleep on the floor. Not even the next four hours in bed had made up for that, Walter thought. A floor will kill you at this age. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. 

Instead of the orange and brown room he had fallen asleep in, he was met with the antiseptic white of Section's Medical Ward. What the hell? 

Walter turned his head, looking for the glass dog he had been sent to retrieve. Why anyone would stash microfilm in an RCA glass dog was beyond him but they needed that film. Why anyone would use microfilm in this day and age was another question. But sweet Wendy-May didn't live in the age, now did she? Not anymore, anyway. 

Wait a minute. Walter sat up with a jolt. Sweet Wendy-May was a mission back in 1979. He hadn't thought about her in years. So why now? 

His bare feet hit the cold polished floor of Section and Walter winced. Ah, damn. He hurt _everywhere_. Slowly, allowing his aching muscles to stretch and warm up, Walter made his way over to the clothes that were folded and stacked neatly on a plain, white chair. 

The routine of dressing allowed him to recall the events of the past . . . what? Few days? Hours? Ah, hell. He didn't know. He squinted at his bandanna and began folding it into neat creases. He _did_ recall Operations informing him of his 'retirement.' 

Retirement. The word chilled him even though he was now dressed and tying his shoes. He'd remembered Wendy because of something they had done to him, of that he had no doubt. He just didn't really wanted to know the why of it. Sometimes, it was best not to question too much. 

Walter finished and wrapped the bandanna around his head then secured it. So that was Retirement, huh? And he had lived to tell about it. Not that he would. Or that there was anything much to tell. Retirement . . . 

Retirement was supposed to be permanent. And just how did he get pulled out of Retirement? A quick scan of the panel waiting for him on the table answered that question. Yeah, sure, the kid who had replaced him screwed up. But it was easy to see that it'd been a set-up. Walter shook his head. Poor kid wasn't dumb enough to make a mistake like that. He'd made sure of it himself. 

Only one person would have set the kid up like that. Birkoff. Walter wiped at the tears that welled up at the realization. Now _that_ kid wasn't a kid anymore. He had watched the young man grow up fast in the past few years. At first they had found a common ground in the sophisticated technology Section One used on a daily basis. That ground had been strong enough to hold the foundations of friendship; the passing of knowledge from experience to inexperience, the zest of youthful vigor into aching bones. Lately, the bond seemed more like . . . family. 

Oh, no. He refused to go there. Walter stood and dropped the panel back onto the metal table then began to pace the room. When someone in Section started talking about their family . . . _any_ family, they were headed for trouble. Walter swiped a gruff hand against his cheeks and muttered, "Damn air conditioning. Dry a man's eyes out." Just in case anyone was watching. 

As if in answer to his comment, the quiet hum of the air conditioner purred into the stark white room. The gentle sound and quiet touch of cool air helped to clear his mind. When he was ready, one-hundred percent _ready_ , Walter stood and looked toward the cold metal door opposite him. Beyond it, rows of beds lay waiting for the next occupent. Barren beds with crisp plastic holders at the top of each one stating "Insert Name Here". 

He was in no particular hurry to revisit that area of Section One. And yes, he was grateful that the young computer genius had managed to get him out. 

But he didn't have to tell Birkoff that. 

Walter turned his back on the metal door and moved to the opposite end of the room, passing through the more delicate glass door that lead to the upper levels of Section One. 

No, he didn't have to tell Birkoff. 

And he'd be damned if he ever did.


End file.
